Archive Duty: Candidate Group II [August]

[wingrider]

Hennai sighed. Of all the chores that were needed of Candidates in the Weyr, Hennai loved to help in the Archives. It was a quiet chore that she liked. But nothing could compare to her favored craft, Dragonhealing. She loved helping with the dragons. Whatever she can do to help them, she will. She opened the door and walked in. She had been looking forward to this chore. She went to a writing table and chair and took a seat. She looked at the hide in front of her and read it a bit. She looked up and saw that other Candidates were working quietly and a few were talking among themselves. She looked next to her. There was no one sitting next to her. She sighed and got to work on the hide in front of her. She picked up the quill and dipped the tip in the ink and began.

[reqqy]

Mutasim shrugged mildly. "I wouldn't be too upset about the lack of errands just yet. You'll be wishing you could turn back the clock before long." Not that the candidate really had a ton of errands to run himself, other than when the Headwoman went on a vindictive rampage; he simply wasn't pleasant enough on a normal day to deal with. At least, he figured that was the reason. They hadn't really bothered to tell him. Surprise, surprise.

His sharp eyes didn't miss the gesture, as her hand fell to the small knife he'd noticed but dismissed earlier. She defended herself with that thing? Now, Mutasim was well aware that anything sharp was effective enough as a weapon, but it was really limiting to have only one knife, and one that wasn't very versatile at that. The candidate liked the freedom to be able to throw a good half-dozen or so before closing, and still have something readily at hand. What he usually fought with, actually, was what nearly amounted to a shortsword for someone as small as him, a dirk over a foot long in the blade. With a nice curved dagger for his off-hand, a little over half the size of the dirk and long-handled. He was good with those blades. Didn't need to fight anyone to prove it, either, which he hadn't in turns. Not a true blade flight. Mutasim didn't count the weyrbrat he'd terrorized, after all.

Okay, so compared to the rest of the people in the south, he probably looked like a walking arsenal, but there was definitely something to be said for giving off the clear impression that he could and would destroy anyone who thought it a good idea to mess with him. Saved a lot of energy in the long run. Mutasim mentally shrugged. He wasn't about to lecture Meira on the necessity to better arm herself, and he wasn't about to push her into anything she didn't want to do. Savitri would be interesting to teach a little hand-to-hand to, sure enough. Of course, it would have been quite convenient if he could just expand that lesson from one to two people, rather than teach Meira something else on the side, but things were as they were. "Carving it is, then."

The boy actually laughed when she said he didn't help Jabari's ego. Was that true? Possibly, but he and Jabari got on just fine. The brown's mood was more one of false annoyance, anyway; both he and his humanpet were in a rather playful mood. Which was, yes, unusual for the both of them, though specifically for the young man lightly swinging his legs above the floor, speeding through another copy that would be - on the whole - mostly illegible.

Crooning, the brown firelizard arched into her fingers. Mutasim watched for a few moments, a brow twitching as he tried not to smile. "He was hatched that way," the candidate stated solemnly.

The boy was genuinely perplexed by her statement that she'd never once liked an enemy. In general, Mutasim thought of enemies as people who wanted to kill him, or otherwise injure him in some sort of permanent way out of spite. He'd liked plenty of people on the streets that he'd been forced to kill in order to ensure that he and his could survive. Of course there were some enemies that you simply want to tear limb-from-limb on general principle - and he'd even removed a few 'limbs' at one point because of it - but the majority of people who'd wanted to kill him were either struggling survival just as he was or under orders. Hard to fault any of them.

Casting a small sideways glance at the newcomer - a new candidate he hadn't taken the time to personally meet yet - Mutasim frowned down at Meira. "Enemies?" He wasn't about to name Lordholder Lyam of Bitra, but he felt comfortable enough with her to give her a partial truth. "A powerful man in the north. He tried to reach me here, once." Mild shrug. "Otherwise, no one specifically, though I'm sure there are some lurking about." Mutasim scribbled some more, before setting the copy down and starting another. "But there are plenty of people to dislike around here, for one reason or another. Not everyone has your best interests at heart."

[Avu]

“I’m far from upset, believe me,” Meira corrected dryly. “I’d rather not have errands to run anyway.” Running errands meant awkward, breathless pauses as she tried to navigate around the Weyr that she wasn’t entirely yet familiar with. It also meant speaking confidently to people she didn’t know. She would definitely pass on that, given the chance to. “I’m guessing you would know?” she added tentatively. If he had been at the Weyr four Hatchings, no doubt he would have gotten to know some of the Riders and Weyrlings by now. And by rank, a Weyrling was higher than a Candidate. Which probably meant that a Weyrling could order them around.

Catching his glance at her gesture, Meira quirked one eyebrow at him. “So, are you going to tell me why you carry an entire weaponry room with you?” She was feeling surprisingly confident, something she didn’t normally feel around 1) a man with 2) a dozen knives on hand. While Mutasim was no doubt much more efficient than she was, Meira couldn’t help feeling a little defensive about her knife. Sure, it was small, but it would still prick a hole in someone without killing them.

“Carving’s fine,” she agreed again, nodding as she finished the record and snagged one at random, which, to her intense joy, turned out to be old tithe records. She felt about ready to throw it at some archivist, resisted with an effort, and began to write, slowly. She glanced up halfway at Mutasim’s laugh, but her eye caught instead on another Candidate that had just walked in. Probably new, she thought absently, as she sat next to no one and nobody really seemed to register her presence.

“Have you ever met her before?” Meira asked without thinking, nodding at the girl, curiously. If it had been her, she would have claimed an untaken seat next to another Candidate and tried to talk, not just sit by herself. Well, perhaps she was just shy. At the same instant, she remembered the closed look Mutasim’s face had adopted when Raila came in and glanced swiftly at him, anxiously, to see his expression.

Stroking Jabari, even with one hand, was an occupying task. For one, Meira wanted to make sure she didn’t accidentally hurt the fire lizard by fouling his wing or a leg or something. A smile tugged at her mouth as she ran her fingers over the smooth hide. “Hatched beautiful?” she queried, glancing up. “Oh, really? So he Hatched this size as well?”

A powerful man in the north. This time, Meira couldn’t suppress the shudder. There seemed to be far too many powerful men in the north. And most of them ruthless, stupid, greedy…she bit her lip, staring intently at the hide she was copying. “Tried to reach you?” she asked, and wasn’t pleased by the slight tremor in her voice. Doubtful Benden Weyr would bother about a runaway healer, but still…“Did…could he get…get to you?”

[dragon]

After having arrived at the weyr the day before, Cloar quickly discovered that no one was left wanting for things to do. Which, in his opinion, was a good thing. He didn't like being idle.

But saying, 'here, you do this', with no choice in the matter? That was a little ... different ... from how this young blacksmith was used to doing things. But adaptable he was, and adapt he would do. Once he had been informed of his assignment to work in the Archives space, Cloar headed there straight away.

He pushed the door open, and stepped into the space, merely standing there as he allowed the door to slowly swing shut behind him. It sure was a dark place, for being a place of recording. And dusty! He almost didn't want to breathe. However, he didn't even notice that it wasn't as cool as it could have been ... to him, it was actually quite cool. There was no amped up fire to work over, no glowing metal.

Tasting the air as he drew a slow breath, Cloar made his way deeper into the records room, taking a look around. Seeing a collection of tables with a thin spattering of other young people seated, he quickly deduced what was expected of him by what they were doing ... copying older documents.

Oh...kay... He took a quick look around again, remembering having seen such supplies nearby. Cloar took a single step over to where the writing supplies were. Selecting a sheaf of parchments and a pair of quills, he tucked the parchments under his arm as he selected an ink well. These he carried over to a table and set down, before considering who to ask as to what needed doing. He didn't want to redo something that had been copied already recently... it would be a waste of effort ... and his time.

After a very short conversation with an archivist, Cloar returned to his supplies with a selection of documents that had been indicated to him. Considering how far spread out the others were, it was pretty much a given that he ended up sitting down near one of them.

"Hello." he said to her, simply, in polite greeting. And then he spread out a parchment, unrolled the document, and started copying. His hand was neat, clear, crisp, and slightly ornate. He took his time with the copying, but even with that, he was scripting out text at a quick rate. Something his mother had been rather strict with her children on had been writing style. He could have written faster, but the quality would have suffered slightly. And given that this was an important document rather than his own scrawled notes, he deemed it important enough for him to take his time to make it neat. Each line marched across the page in straight rows, following the last row above it.

Reading and writing were not on his list of favorite things to do, but he took some pride in knowing that it was something he could do well. He really rather preferred beating metal into his will. Things that he could put some muscle into. Writing was fine and all, but it seemed that the quill he held was a rather fragile thing swallowed up in his hand.

[wingrider]

Hennai looked up when a male Candidate said 'hello'. She had been so hard at copying what was in front of her that she hadn't even heard him speak until nearly a minute had passed. "Hello," she replied back and took up her quill again. She got back to the task at hand. She stopped her work for a second to ask, "the name's Hennai. Are you new here?" She went back to her work while she waited for his reply.

[reqqy]

He smiled wryly as she spoke of errands. Did Mutasim run a lot of errands? No. Not at all, really. "My friends among the weyrlings don't lord it over me, and pretty much everyone else would much rather ask someone more...accomodating." Irony laced his tone. More accomodating? Oh, yes, that was definitely putting it mildly. The candidate did have a penchant for glaring people into rethinking associating with him, still wasn't above threatening people away if they bothered him too much, and generally knew how to make himself scarce after lessons. "Never cross the Headwoman, though." He pulled a face. "She had me doing just about every chore she could think of for two months."

The boy actually blinked at her question, though, pausing from his copying - which he strongly suspected was going to end up in the 'to be burned' pile by the end of the day - to look at her narrowly. "Better safe than sorry? Haven't had to use them much here, and when I have it's usually my own doing, but...Old habits." He didn't choose to mention the men who'd attacked him in the candidate barracks, and he certainly wasn't about to say he made a habit of threatening people with them when feeling cornered. Probably not a good idea to admit to being the secret killer of Trenlor when the man got into the fight with then-Weyrleader S'rei. And the incident with the weyrbrat? Well, he still didn't understand why that was such a big deal, but given the reactions he'd gotten across the board, he decided not to mention that, either.

He fingered the bandolier for a moment, drawing out one of the blades. Most of the knives swathed across his chest were throwing knives. This one was no exception. It had a blade just four inches long, and not much in the way of a handle. Streamlined. Single edge. Deadly when thrown by an accurate hand, but not much use in hand-to-hand and very nearly harmless if you couldn't hit a rodent between the eyes at thirty yards. His dirk and two daggers were hidden on his person, reserved for when things got dire enough that he was looking at a blade fight with an opponent. "They're throwing knives, actually, and since they don't come back to you after you throw them, it's handy to have several around."

Following Meira's gaze and nod, the boy merely shook his head, his expression non-committal, but not nearly as stony as it had been upon Raila's entrance. The young man who followed, though, brought Muta's spine up straight, his eyes narrowing. He didn't like males. Ironically enough, the taller candidate was not so very different in feature from Mutasim himself. If height was ignored, the smaller of the two had the more developed frame, but this stranger definitely had the older-seeming face - and the height. Otherwise, their coloring was nearly identical. Muta would guess that this man-child was about his age. Without realizing it, he'd begun turning the knife he'd drawn over in his hand contemplatively. Luckily for the newcomer, the fact that he'd ignored Mutasim saved him from any - unpleasantness. "No, I don't know either of them."

Oh, how Jabari was enjoying the attention! Mutasim flicked the male an actual smile, and the brown's head came up, crooning to his humanpet. He stirred happily, moving a little to get her fingers going where he wanted them. "Well, of course," Muta returned, going along with her joke. "He hatched just as he is now, perfectly beautiful and just that size. You don't have to oil him or feed him. The perfect firelizard." Jabari chittered at his bonded, and Mutasim laughed then. "Don't be silly." He nudged the firelizard lightly. "I don't want you to stop being hungry. It's a joke. Most of it."

The boy immediately sobered when he saw how shaken Meira seemed by his comment. But neither was he the sort to lie. "He did - reach me, so to speak." Mutasim nudged her with his foot again, though, to make sure he had her attention. "But he probably had far more motivation than most people. He wasn't my only enemy originally, and I'm not known for mercy." That wasn't entirely true, though he had rather ruthlessly murdered the men who had held him captive in his distress. Okay, not rather ruthlessly. The deaths had been properly fitting to the crime. And yes, they were gruesome. Mutasim was not anyone to mess with when he felt backed into a corner, and you especially didn't harm anyone close to him. "He was afraid of my going back." Which Mutasim had no intention of doing, but he didn't mind having Lyam afraid of him, so long as there were no further attacks.

[Avu]

His smile was slightly confusing. After his talk of running errands, which sounded as if he’d had experience…ah, but of course. The Headwoman had yet to constantly attack Meira, but from the other rumors she’d heard, yes, she was as hard a taskmaster as any. A smile twitched her lip. “And she stopped…why?” she queried. It might be valuable to figure out how other people evaded chores. As long as, she thought in amusement, glancing at the multiple knives, it wasn’t too violent.

Which, hopefully, it wouldn’t be, as the headwoman looked just fine.

He looked surprised. Which made Meira surprised. Surely someone had asked him before why he carried around so many weapons? It couldn’t be normal to walk around like this? One small knife, she could see, but half a dozen of them was a bit much. Maybe she was just being stupid, but so far she’d yet to see anyone but herself and Mutasim who even carried a knife around. Old habits. That didn’t bode too well. “Not many assassins are lurking around Selenitas,” she pointed out.

It made a pleasant change, being the one doing the reassuring instead of needing it…

Meira studied the knife as Mutasim pulled out, and even though she had a certain dislike for knives save the one she wore at her own belt, it was hard to miss the obvious master craftsmanship about the object, but, as he had said, it was basically little good for close combat. She surprised herself with her own knowledge about weapons, and she bit her lip, startled. Had she started to judge weapons by looking at them? “I’m assuming you have good aim, then,” she said grimly, praying to Faranth she was never on the receiving end of one of those knives when thrown.

His expression seemed okay at first. Not too emotionless, although it was far from friendly. And abruptly, he changed—this time into an unfriendly posture; Meira glanced at the girl, wondering what she’d done, but suddenly she wasn’t alone. There was another boy near her, a Candidate as likely as not. She was going to have so much trouble remembering names…glancing back at Mutasim when his voice sounded, she frowned, slight confusion settling upon her. If he didn’t know either, why so aggressive? “They seem friendly enough,” she pointed out. What was it about the young man that had caused such a reaction in Mutasim? It was completely surprising to Meira.

Still intently stroking and rubbing Jabari’s soft hide, Meira found herself grinning, amused by both fire lizard and joke. “And what kind of clutch could I find such a perfect, beautiful, and intelligent fire lizard at?” she asked innocently, caressing the brown’s hide. Simply because it was a joke didn’t make any of her compliments less truthful.

Meira managed to repress further shuddering, mostly because she had braced herself emotionally and mentally against whatever Mutasim was going to tell her: A very good thing, because even though she didn’t shudder, she stiffened, and immediately a barrage of self-reassurances began. They probably think you’re dead. They won’t care about a runaway healer. It’s not like you knew any important secrets…and they don’t want you back.

It didn’t work. “He was stopped, though?” she asked nervously.

[dragon]

Cloar paused in his own writing, when Hennai spoke. He really hadn't expected her to answer. He looked over at her for a moment, digesting what she'd said for a moment before deciding that maybe things at the weyr were even more different than he'd expected.

"I arrived yesterday... I'm Cloar." he returned to introduction. "So ... yeah ... one could say I am quite new here."

Now that his attention had been torn from his assigned task, he did notice the look that Mutasim was giving him, and made a mental note to avoid that one, before looking away from him again.

He twiddled the quill for a moment, thinking, before turning his eyes back to the document he had been copying. Surely there had to be a better way of keeping and storing records?

[wingrider]

"Welcome to Selenitas Weyr. Where are you from? If you don't mind me asking." She looked at him a moment and noticed him glance around. She did to. She didn't really know the other lot of people. She only knew a few of them and by name only. She turned her attention back to the hide in front of her as she waited for Cloar to reply. She hummed a child's tune softly to herself.

[reqqy]

Why had the Headwoman stopped? "Well, I guess because I'm on archive duty now. Or maybe because she got tired of thinking up new and interesting punishments after two months? Who knows. Most of the time she doesn't notice me. I make it a point to avoid high ranking people if at all possible." For more than one reason, honestly. His experience with people in power wasn't all that favorable, for one. Secondly, annoying someone with more pull than you was never a particularly good idea.

An eyebrow lifted mildly at her comment about assassins. Well, no, there weren't many. And of the ones there were, he'd personally killed most of them. Three of the men who'd attacked him after his first hatching, and of course Trenlor, who had fully intended to kill Shmee at one point. He'd even played with the Benden dragonriders a little. It was always interesting to see just how much of his skills had been lost over the past two turns, and he was gratified to note that, while he probably wasn't nearly as deadly as before, he could still get the job done. Then again, the best thing about Benden dragonriders was that they almost always underestimated women, boys, and small men. Size and Impressing a bronze certainly wasn't everything.

Mutasim's smile was just as grim as her tone. "Not bad. A little off target when Savitri and I were in the jungle and thought the attacking wherries were something more dangerous, but not enough to change the end result. I really should be practicing more." Yes, he should. You never knew when Benden or Fort might try something again. Thus far, the candidates had generally escaped unscathed, but that wasn't guaranteed to last. Neither was it certain that they'd always be candidates. Actually, they wouldn't always be candidates, regardless of what happened at the next several Hatchings. Mutasim didn't like to think of that; he still had no idea what he'd do when he became too old to Stand. Sure, it was five turns off for him, but it had been seven turns, and things definitely weren't looking promising.

Grunting at Meira's comment about 'friendliness,' Mutasim very deliberately sheathed his knife so as not to be tempted. He could honestly say that he regretted how quickly his reaction to Ferneth had turned volatile. It wouldn't do to make more enemies simply by being so antagonistically paranoid. Nice of her to distract him by mentioning Jabari. The candidate smiled again. "It was a wild clutch," he stated, then, clearly amused. "The same one that produced Dael. You know Dael, right? The first salamandyr? Uu'n's gold? Uu'n, the rider who impressed Adith the photophobe blue of Fath's last clutch?" Arguably the reason any weyrlings survived the massacre at all, and one of the two who aided me when Lyam attempted to have me killed?

Frowning at how upset the girl was getting, he had to wonder who she thought might be after her. This distress couldn't be solely for Mutasim's sake. "He sent men after me in the barracks, and two former candidates helped out." Again, he was being very blunt. But the boy reached out, resting his hand on the one that now stroked Jabari - even if his hand was the smaller of the two - and he waited until he was certain he had her full attention. "Meira. Anyone who might try to follow you into these barracks - they'd have to go past me and all the boys here. You'll be safe. Don't worry."

[Avu]

Mutasim’s insights weren’t all that helpful, but it amused her nonetheless. Meira propped her chin on her fist, elbow resting on the table lightly. “Mm,” she said noncommittally, although the whole ‘avoid-high-rankers’ seemed a bit melodramatic. Yes, they could make your life miserable if they desired, but most of them didn’t go around destroying lives. Emphasis on most. But then, if Mutasim always carried around as many knives as he had now, it might be reasonable to be suspicious of said highly-ranked people. “Do you normally count the Headwoman as ‘highly-ranked’?” she asked curiously.

She would, but that was now. Candidates were basically Drudges with better clothes for time being, and could be ordered around by anyone who took a mind to—but lots of people demanded things of the headwoman too, and she never had given them any stern lectures about rank. Or at least, Meira thought dryly, she never lectured any dragonriders in Meira’s hearing. “I mean,” she clarified, “Once you Impress, you’ll be able to tell her what to do if you want, won’t you?”

Perhaps she was just getting mixed up…? Or maybe this Headwoman was just more obliging to dragonriders than most.

Meira was slightly surprised when Mutasim looked…well, to her, he looked a bit skeptical when she spoke about the assassins, but wasn’t it true? She had yet to be threatened by a knife-waving assassin, yet to see one skulking in some dark corner. She was unsure as to whether she should be pleased or alarmed by Mutasim’s…talent. Deciding to accept it, she raised one amused eyebrow. “So you killed a bunch of wherries?” she queried.

Relieved to see him sheath the sword, Meira snuck another glance at the Candidate that had so…distracted Mutasim. She returned her gaze to Jabari, her fingertip following his spine and then tracing the wings fragile-looking membrane. At his mention of Dael, Uu’n, and Adith, Meira frowned, trying to recall why she felt the vague stirring in her memory. Unable to place it, she shrugged. “I probably came across them in these records,” she said, almost frustrated by the number yet to copy. “I haven’t met them personally, but I’ve heard about it. Not in great detail or anything.” So he had been here for the Weyrling Massacre as well?

That had been a widely-spread rumor for a while, and Meira, slinking inconspicuously from place to place, had heard tidbits of information dropped here and there. Perhaps one of them had mentioned Adith? Not by name, of course, but perhaps as “that photophobic dragon” or something.

Oh.

That was not very good. No, not good at all. Doubtless they’d forgotten about Meira by now. Runaway healers were probably not topping the list of Benden’s worries, but she still couldn’t seem to shed the slightly paralyzing fear. She blinked gratefully at Mutasim’s reassurance, drawing her breath. “I…thanks. Sorry about…” Meira paused, unsure as to what to say. Sorry for panicking? For zoning out? For being paranoid? “…about…that…” she finished lamely.

It would be so much easier to just forget.

[dragon]

"Thank you." Cloar said. "I come from ... well ..." he heaved a slow sigh, and scratched behind an ear, knowing full well that she might well have not heard of the cothold he was really from. "You could said I'm from Hyphen Hold, but not exactly. Near there." he supplied, re-dipping his quill in the ink well prior to making yet another row of well-shaped letters in a ruler-straight row.

He could have written so much faster had it been coming from his own mind, but reading another document and rewriting it slowed his progress down considerably. Not that he minded ... it probably wouldn't matter how much he got done, in the end. It was just going to get redone again, somwhere along the line. But maybe for the next person it would be easier to read ... not only in hand but also in ink depth. With that thought in mind, he made sure he didn't make any of the letter bugs too narrow.

After listening to her hum for a little while, he just had to ask: "What song is that?" and after a moment, to make sure she didn't take it wrong, he added: "You've got a nice voice for it."

[wingrider]

Hennai looked up from her piece of hide. She smiled at him. "One my mother taught me as a small child. One of the older ballads used to soothe young children when they had bad dreams." She could feel her cheeks getting warm. And she knew she was blushing.

[reqqy]

Mutasim’s head tilted to one side, the young man frowning at Meira. “Well, she’s higher ranking than we are, and she’s one of the few who will use that on a regular basis.” Was it so hard to understand? Then again, the candidate really hadn’t had any trouble with her until he’d gone a little – well, yes, overboard. The boy just wasn’t the sort to let people beat him up simply because he’d get in trouble if he responded naturally. And, truthfully, he had curbed his first impulse.

The frown shifted to a wry – and not altogether pleasant – smile. “I don’t have my hopes up,” he responded, with just a trace of bitterness. Four failed Standings tended to do that to you. Oh, he was aware that it was possible, and he’d certainly be a believer in the theory that every dragon just had one possible mindmate should he miraculously Impress, but most likely he wouldn’t. It just made more sense to remain as a candidate than to try to find some other occupation of which he knew nothing. Mutasim would have to start looking more actively soon, though, if he still wanted a place at the weyr in five turns’ time.

He laughed outright at her mention of killing wherries. “No, not at all.” The dark eyes flashed with clear amusement. Did she really think they’d declare war on such nuisances? “I threw at the first one before it registered what they were, but then we just scared the rest off,” he finished with a smile. “There are felines around here, and while dragons can handle them easily enough, a person trying to fend them off is another story. We were anticipating the worst.” Yes, felines were quite nasty. They’d crippled his friend, among other things.

An eyebrow lifted, though, when she spoke of Uu’n and Adith as if they were…some sort of legend, or merely marks scratched on parchment. Adith Mutasim wasn’t quite as familiar with, though he distinctly remembered how that blue had fled the light the moment he’d hatched. Uuvaenan and Mutasim had gone through their first candidacy together, and though the now bluerider was the type of male Muta got particularly nervous around, they shared a certain – bond. A blood bond, you could say. There was just something about fighting side-by-side with someone that changed things forever.

“He was in these very barracks with me,” Mutasim stated quietly. “I could show you exactly which bunk.” Then he snorted mildly. “Yes. He was one of those I was sure to mark, because he was dangerous. You could just tell. If you’ve heard anything of the massacre, you know that it’s him and the dragonhealer who are credited with saving the skins of the others. Ruthless people. What you don’t know is that those people in that weyrling class? Those were all the first candidates I stood with. It makes me wonder, sometimes…if, had I Impressed that first time…would I have been among the survivors, or the dead?”

Merely nodding at her apology, he removed his hand and went back to writing, not wanting to embarrass her by saying anything more on that subject. Though he was certainly curious. Obviously, Meira had reason to believe she might be pursued, and that sparked his interest. If only because he would like to know who he should be watching out for. A lot of people didn’t care one whit about who they had to mow down to get to who they wanted.

[Avu]

Meira considered. “Well, you’d think that considering someday, if we Impressed or Bonded, we’d be technically able to send her on countless errands—she’d be a bit less demanding,” she offered out loud. It seemed perfectly reasonable to her. Her eyes flickered to him briefly, a trace of sadness in them. He didn’t have his hopes up? But it seemed mandatory that he should have his hopes up if he was going to Impress at all. From what she’d heard, there were two battles about Impression choices. One side declared each dragon had only one mindmate, only one that they would ever Impress to, while others claimed that dragons Impressed to the ones who felt confident, who felt right at the time.

She would have said, “I don’t think you should give up”, but Mutasim didn’t seem like the type of person who would take something like that particularly well. Not that she meant it badly, but sometimes people preferred not to be consoled. Meira shrugged, contenting herself with saying, “If you’re meant for a dragon, you’ll Impress.” It could be taken either way, and was really just a noncommittal type of thing that one said without really meaning anything.

His laugh startled her, and Meira’s eyes flashed up from Jabari to Mutasim, a wry smile twisting one side of her mouth. “And supposing it had been a person walking?” she queried. “A Dragonrider?” That would make for a major uproar, but a dragonrider probably wouldn’t be blundering around anyway. Well, things happened. She did understand about the whole avoid-felines-at-all-costs idea, though. Fierce when disturbed, hungry all the time, and vicious with claws and teeth—felines were not high on her list of things-I-love.

Oh.

So he had been here for the Weyrling Massacre…Meira felt her stomach sink. That was the type of Weyr she had been serving for Turns…a Weyr that killed young dragons, young Weyrlings, still never having flown with their dragons, alone, a Weyr that was ruthless, evil, terrible. And she had blocked it from her mind until she couldn’t anymore. The girl bit her lip. If only she had recognized the trouble brewing sooner, she might have been able to do something. Something other than sit and stare, while Benden Riders ravaged Pern…she threw a glance at Mutasim, wondering if he’d seen the conflicting emotions on her face: The respect, for the Weyrlings; fear; along with a quiet kind of guilt. Hopefully he wouldn’t interpret it wrongly.

“That was the mutated clutch,” she murmured, a pitying look now in her eyes. Poor dragons. At his musing comment, Meira interlaced her fingers, shrugging. “I don’t see you as the type of person who would be easily killed,” she murmured. The rumors had been twisted; there was no way half of them could be true—but certainly she’d have thought Mutasim would try to act as soon as possible. Maybe that wouldn’t be soon enough, but she couldn’t see him not struggling either. Perhaps struggling wouldn’t help…so many ‘maybes,’ ‘perhaps’. She shrugged, sighing slightly.